The Acropolis

“I will fight the lion!” fifty men shout in unison. After weeks of deliberation, and dozens more lives lost, a champion is chosen.

A great feast takes place as everyone drinks to the inevitable victory of our new hero. And as the celebrations near to a close, the town breaks out in song, for the valiant acts that are about to take place. Little do we know, that our brave volunteer hasn’t slept a wink last night, for fear of the unknown that awaits him. Reluctantly, he descends down the hill where the townsfolk saw the beast last. He doesn’t have to venture off too far, as the lion has left much carnage in its wake.

There it is, gnawing on the last bit of flesh clinging to the bones of a fellow citizen, entangled within the garb of one of our former heroes sent before it. Our champion gets to high ground, trying to work out a strategy before he is ready to strike. But the lion smells his fear, and stares him dead in the eyes. A cascade of petrification begins to roll down our hero’s legs, but he resists the curse, just in time to escape the lions bound. He steals himself to an even higher ground, while the lion chases him around, as he fights for his life.

Meanwhile, the town isn’t threatened by the lion during this distraction, but it won’t last for long. And the feeling is merely a complacent comfort. A few of us still know that our champion cannot distract it for too long before it begins to get bored with him. He must therefore kill the lion, before it devours him, the whole town, or both.

What does the town do? It cheers him on from five miles away. Is our champion still alive? Does he have enough supplies to overcome thirst and hunger? Does he have the tools to take down this magnificent beast? Why are we all hiding five miles away — safe for now — up on our little hill?

If we expect our warrior to win, should we not support him in every way we can? Our words are of no comfort, for they mean just as little as his. If we want him to succeed — and we do need him to succeed — we should take action, ourselves, and have the courage to come down and fight along with him, and help him to accomplish this mission, before it is too late.

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About ☤ T.S. Vandenberg

I am nothing if not my mind. My words are a reflection of my mind. Within them, I am eternal. Without them, I am lost eternally.
As you continue to read, a convergence of minds begins to takes place. My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. Within you, I may linger. Without you, I am exhibited.